His Broken Angel's Dying Secret
Chapter 3
The final bell of the day rang, sending a massive wave of students flooding into the hallways.
Bishop walked to his locker. He spun the combination dial with quick, practiced movements.
He yanked the metal door open.
Sitting right on top of his spare black hoodie was a bright pink strawberry candy and a folded yellow sticky note.
He picked up the note.
He stared at the neat, perfect handwriting. Thank you.
An image of Claire's pale, terrified face from this morning flashed in his mind.
The hard, angry line of his mouth twitched. It was the closest thing to a smile he had felt in months.
He unwrapped the candy and tossed it into his mouth.
The cheap, artificial strawberry flavor exploded on his tongue. He hated sweets. But he didn't spit it out.
He folded the yellow sticky note and shoved it deep into his leather wallet.
On the other side of the school, Claire stood in front of the bathroom mirror.
She uncapped a tube of tinted lip balm and rubbed it heavily over her lips. Her natural color was fading faster today.
She walked out the front doors of the school.
Willow jogged up next to her. "Hey, a bunch of us are going to get milkshakes. You want to come?"
"I can't," Claire lied smoothly. "I have a lot of reading to catch up on at home."
She needed to go home and lie down before the pain became unbearable.
To avoid the slow-moving crowds on the main sidewalk, Claire turned down the narrow alleyway that ran behind the school's auto shop.
The alley was dark. It smelled strongly of rotting garbage and stale cigarette smoke.
Claire kept her head down, walking fast.
Suddenly, the loud, wet sound of a fist hitting flesh echoed off the brick walls.
Someone whimpered.
Claire froze. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She ducked behind a massive green dumpster and peeked around the rusted metal edge.
Three older boys wearing dirty denim jackets had a skinny kid with thick glasses pinned against the brick wall.
They were digging through the kid's pockets.
The leader, a guy named Spike O'Malley, pulled his fist back. He aimed right for the kid's face.
Claire's breath caught in her throat. Her shaking hand reached into her pocket, her fingers blindly searching for her phone to call the police.
Before she could pull it out, a tall, broad figure stepped into the mouth of the alley. It was well-known among the student body that the secluded spot behind the auto shop was Bishop's designated area to smoke between classes, but the three older boys had clearly forgotten. He blocked out the afternoon sun, casting a long, imposing shadow over the concrete.
Bishop stood there. He had an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were dead and cold.
Spike looked up and sneered. "Get lost, Dalton. Mind your own business."
Bishop didn't say a word.
He closed the distance in three long strides. He swung his leg up and kicked Spike squarely in the chest.
Spike flew backward. His back slammed violently into the metal dumpster.
The sheer, brutal speed of the violence made the other two boys drop the skinny kid instantly. They backed away, their eyes wide with fear.
Bishop grabbed Spike by the collar of his jacket. He hauled him up until Spike's toes barely touched the ground.
"If I see you on this block again," Bishop said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble, "I'll break your jaw."
He shoved Spike away.
The three boys scrambled over each other and ran out the opposite end of the alley.
Bishop looked down. He picked up the skinny kid's glasses from the dirt.
He shoved them roughly into the kid's chest. "Get out of here."
The kid stammered a thank you and sprinted away.
Claire stood frozen behind her dumpster. She pressed both hands over her mouth to keep from making a sound.
Everyone said Bishop was a monster. But he just saved that boy.
Bishop turned around. His dark eyes locked exactly on the edge of the dumpster where Claire was hiding.
He spit the unlit cigarette onto the concrete.
"You can come out," Bishop said coldly. "Unless you like the smell of trash."
Claire's face burned with embarrassment. She stepped out into the open.
Her fingers nervously gripped the straps of her backpack. She didn't know what to say.
Bishop walked slowly toward her. He stopped when he was standing right in front of her.
He was so tall she had to tilt her head back to look at him.
He looked down at her. He could smell the faint, clean scent of her perfume mixed with the lingering smell of the strawberry candy he had eaten.
He didn't explain the fight. He didn't justify the violence.
"Don't walk down this alley," Bishop said flatly. "It's not safe."
He stepped around her and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the shadows.
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